


Fly Trap

by Medeafic



Series: Circus [5]
Category: Glee RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Circus, Circus, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:12:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/pseuds/Medeafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Zach spend a night in a cell, and Chris starts to work out some of his issues - both in himself and with other members of the troupe.  Lea talks about her childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Faberryspork (jaymamazing)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaymamazing/gifts), [pippin004](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippin004/gifts).



> _________________________________________________________________  
> Warnings: Off-screen suicide of a peripheral character; description of a traumatic accident; a character suffers a panic attack.  
> _________________________________________________________________

The police station is small and the holding cell is bare except for two bunks on one side and a wooden bench on the other. Chris knows they’re lucky to have the beds, because it’s the only cell of the three to have them. The cop who hauled them in seems more disgruntled than angry, and allows them each a regulation phone call before confiscating their phones. After a short discussion, Chris calls Bruce and Zach calls Dianna.  
  
Bruce is furious, but refrains from any pointed comments, to Chris’s relief. He’s brief on the phone, and reminds them they’re leaving at noon sharp tomorrow. Chris has the distinct feeling they’ll be left behind if they’re not back by then, although he knows rationally that Bruce would never do that. “And Christopher,” Bruce adds just before hanging up, “Perhaps we should have a chat when you get back.”  
  
It does nothing to help Chris’s humor. Zach, as usual, seems relaxed.  
  
“You know, you really sold that cover story,” he says after the cop leaves them alone. Chris grabs the bars of the cell and rests his head between them, the cold metal pressing into the sides of his head. “It’s a pity they didn’t believe you,” Zach adds. “But I guess they didn’t think a gold sequined bag matched your ensemble.”  
  
“Drop it, Zach.” Chris is not in the mood for banter. He’s still pissed that Zach didn’t go with the girls, stepping out from behind the corner instead with his hands raised and a polite, apologetic smile. For a horrible moment, Chris had expected Zach to get shot down by a twitchy cop, but his fears were unfounded.  
  
“Hello, officers,” Zach had said. “I believe you’re looking for us.” With that, Chris had no choice but to stand up from behind the car, holding up his hands as well, with Lea’s shiny purse in his hand an incongruous and obvious detail.  
  
The cops hadn’t even pulled out their guns, motioning them over instead and questioning them with serious faces. Chris had begun to think that his expectations were a little naïve. He’d still lied instinctively and agreed that the handbag was his when asked, staring down the incredulous looks from both police officers, the bartender, and the group of bar patrons gathered behind to watch.  
  
“And what about the young lady who was dancing on the bar?” the cop asked, when it became clear that Chris was sticking to his story.  
  
“I have no idea who she was,” Chris said, and tried to stop shifting on his feet. It was making the cops look wary.  
  
“I see. Do you object if I look inside your – purse, sir?”  
  
“Actually,” Zach had started, and then stopped. “Never mind.” He’d raised his eyes heavenward and Chris thought he could see his lips moving in a silent prayer. It was then that Chris remembered about the knife – but it was too late. The police had already found it.  
  
“Still sure this bag belongs to you, sir?” the cop asked him, but Chris felt that he was all-in now.  
  
“I can explain the knife. I’m with the circus – a knife-thrower. It’s part of my act.”  
  
Zach took on a pained expression, and Chris decided that silence, in this case, would be the better part of valor. They’d ended up in the back of a police car in handcuffs, taken away to the approving noises of the bar crowd.  
  
Again, Chris had expected the worst, but the police did not seem inclined to deal with the paperwork an arrest would make for them, and they got off with a warning and a night in a cell, “Just to make sure there’s no further trouble tonight.” Chris was pretty sure that being locked up with no charges violated some constitutional right or other, but he kept quiet.  
  
He’s more worried about Di than himself, anyway, and every time he thinks about the girls on their own, he feels his fear grow.  
  
Zach leans up against the bars next to him. “You think they’d mind if I started a rousing rendition of ‘Jailhouse Rock’?”  
  
“This is funny to you?”  
  
Zach takes the hint, and lies on the lower bunk bed instead, bouncing his heels as if to test the thin mattress. “Not really, no, but I’m trying to put a positive spin on things. Spending a night in a police cell with you glowering at me is not my idea of fun – although, that has its own charms. If only you had some homemade ink and were wearing an orange jumpsuit.”  
  
Chris turns, but stays standing in the corner, his arms crossed. “At least Dianna got away. Not that I’m any less worried, since she’s with  _Lea_.” He spits the word out with as much venom as he can, but Zach just starts whistling Elvis. “Cut it out!”  
  
Zach sits up and ruffles his hair vigorously until it falls into his face. “They’ll be fine. Lea’s been an idiot tonight, but she’ll take care of Di.”  
  
“A  _drunk_  idiot.”  
  
“Soon enough she’ll be a sober idiot again. We know where they’re staying, and someone will be there to pick them up in the morning. They’ll take Lea’s car back too. It’ll be fine.”  
  
But a thought occurs to Chris. “How are they going to get Lea’s car key? They’re still in her bag, which is here.”  
  
“Lea can start her car without keys.”  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
Zach gives him a pitying smile. “You’re such an innocent, Pine. And before you explode in a little ball of rage,  _I’m_  the one who taught her how to hot-wire a car.”  
  
Chris gapes at him. “What  _possible_  purpose would you have for – no, never mind.” He shuts up, remembering again that Zach and Lea’s childhood was very different to his own. He changes the subject. “Why’d you do it, anyway, give yourself up like that? You should have gone with them.”  
  
“Frankly, my dear, you seemed bound and determined to act as suspiciously as possible, and I figured my excellent interpersonal skills would help calm the situation.”  
  
“I didn’t need your help,” Chris insists.  
  
“Maybe not. But swords are not just for swallowing, Christopher. Sometimes you have to fall on them, too.” When Chris snorts, Zach says, “Lea had to get away. I wanted to protect her.”  
  
“I don’t even know why you put up with her. I don’t know why  _Dianna_  puts up with her. She’s out of control.”  
  
Zach shuffles back against the wall. “Lea’s been through a lot. Hey, if these mattresses were just a tiny bit thicker, we’d actually be in one of my top three fantasies right now.” Chris ignores him. “Jeez, fine. You want to sulk, sulk. I’ll work on adding some realistic details to my prison fantasy.” He puts his head back against the wall, closes his eyes and smiles.  
  
“What do you mean, Lea’s been through a lot?”  
  
“I can’t tell you. It’s her story.”  
  
“ _You_  brought it up.”  
  
“If your tone gets any icier I’m going to have to add warm fluffy blankets to my fantasy cell.  _Not_  very realistic.”  
  
“Quit messing around, Zach!” It comes out a  _lot_  louder than he intended.  
  
They hear rapid footsteps coming towards them and Chris scoots towards the bunk beds. He’s mad at Zach, but at least Zach’s friendly. The cop appears, looking annoyed. “If you boys can’t keep yourselves quiet, I’ll hold you in separate cells. Understood? You’re here to settle down.”  
  
They mutter a  _sorry_  and a  _yes_ , and the cop disappears. Chris thinks about what his mom would say if she could see him now, and hopes that if there  _is_  an afterlife, it’s completely divorced from this world.  
  
“I’m not messing around,” Zach whispers. “I’m just saying, it’s not my story to tell. But Lea’s not as bad as you think she is. I promise.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” Chris hisses back.  
  
“She took care of you after your panic attack, didn’t she?” Zach’s voice is still low, but his  _laissez-faire_  attitude has vanished. “You’re not being fair to her. The only reason she acts like she does towards you is because she cares about Di so much. No matter how much you don’t like her as a person, I would’ve thought you’d at least give her credit for that.”  
  
“She cares about Di, huh? That’s why she likes to tie her up on a board and throw knives at her?”  
  
“Actually, yes,” Zach says in his normal tone, although he sounds tired. “Yes, that is exactly why. Can we talk about something else? Or maybe go to sleep? This is not turning out at  _all_  like it does in my fantasy.”  
  
Chris feels the night catching up with him too; there’s no point in arguing. “Fine. You want top or bottom? Christ, Zach, don’t look at me like that.” He starts smirking, unable to stay angry. “The cops are about ten feet away, and I don’t think they’ll look kindly on us getting frisky.”  
  
“Getting  _frisky?_  Man, you really need to work on your dirty talk.” Zach pats the bed next to him. “Come and sit for a minute. They’re not going to object to that.” But sitting next to Zach segues into kissing Zach, and then heavy petting over their jeans, until Chris pulls away.  
  
“We’d better stop.” His labored breathing isn’t selling the point, but if the cops find them like this, Chris isn’t sure they’ll be so inclined to leave them alone together. The thought of spending a night in a jail cell alone sends a bolt of horror through him.  
  
Zach gives a huff of disappointment, but stops rubbing at Chris’s denim-covered erection and adjusts his own. His hair has fallen forward into his eyes, and he gives Chris a look through it that makes Chris think for a second that maybe, just maybe they could be quiet enough and even if they weren’t, it would be worth it.  
  
“Quit tempting me.” His voice is husky.  
  
“ _Me_  quit tempting  _you_?”  
  
“Yeah, you. You’re the fucking Devil, Zach.”  
  
“Marvelous Mephistopheles. Hey, that could be my trapeze name.” He pulls Chris in for one quick kiss on the forehead and then gives him a little shove. “You can be up top for once. My jeans are so tight that if I stand up I’m in danger of spraining my dick. Then no more hell-bound pleasures for you.”  
  
Chris rolls his eyes and stands up to stretch, chuckling now as he thinks back over the night.  
  
“Wanna share with the class?” Zach asks, looking at him.  
  
“Sorry, man, it’s just – I never expected you to be any good in a bar fight.”  
  
“Because I’m such a homo?”  
  
Chris laughs harder. “No, dude. Because you were a cheerleader.”  
  
Zach claps his hands. “Ready? Okay! We break noses, yes we do! We break noses, how ’bout you?”  
  
“Seriously, though, nice work. I thought that guy was going to beat you hard.”  
  
Zach shrugs. “Gay cheerleader in high school? I learned early to throw one good punch and run like hell. Besides, that guy was drunk and he moved like a glacier. I’m fast.”  
  
“Yeah, you are.”  
  
“Too fast?” Zach props himself up on an elbow and raises an eyebrow. “Because I can go slower, if you like.”  
  
There’s a long pause. “Nah, I’m good,” Chris replies eventually, and clambers up onto the top bunk. He hangs his head half over the side to look down. “I hope I haven’t…” He can’t finish the sentence. He feels bad that Zach has picked up on some of his reserves about their relationship. “It’s just that we work together, and so we’re taking kind of a risk. It’ll be awkward if things don’t, you know. Stay like they are now.”  
  
“Everything changes. But we’ll be fine no matter what happens, I promise. I’m not the kind to carry a grudge. Sometimes you just have to take a risk for a reward. And let me tell you, I am a  _great_  reward.” He smiles brightly.  
  
“Very modest.” Chris wants to believe him, but it’s hard to let go of his concerns – there are so  _many_  of them, and not just about his relationship with Zach. “So you can tell the future, huh?”  
  
“Part of my satanic power.”  
  
“You’re twisted.”  
  
“Like a pretzel,” Zach agrees, yawning. He puts his hands behind his head and looks up at Chris fondly. “So honestly – don’t worry about us. Whatever happens, we’ll deal.”  
  
Chris drops his arm down over the side, swinging it lazily back and forth. “I can’t believe I’m spending the night in a cell. I think this might be the most ridiculous situation I’ve ever been in. And I work in a circus.”  
  
“That was pretty cool of you, though. Taking the fall like that for Lea.”  
  
Chris tries not to frown. “I did it for Di.”  
  
“Whatever. It was still cool.”  
  
“Yeah, so cool being the fall guy.” He locks eyes with Zach, and realizes what he’s said. The fall guy? The drop guy, more like. He expects a dull ache at least, or the thudding heartbeat that signals the start of a panic attack. He makes a gurgling noise, and Zach half sits, reaching up to his hand, but what’s coming out of Chris is an incredulous giggle. “Oh, my God. The fall guy.”  
  
It’s really not funny, but with Zach tangling their fingers together, confused but chuckling, and the fact that they’re in a police holding cell, and Zach being surprisingly effective in a bar fight…it’s hilarious. Chris has to smother his face in his shoulder, snorting and weeping and laughing until his face hurts. Zach is snickering too, whispering  _shhhhh_  in between, and  _you’re gonna get us into trouble_ , but that just makes it worse.  
  
Chris falls asleep still hiccupping on his giggles, with Zach’s fingers in his hand. When he wakes in the morning his neck has a crick in it and his back is killing him, but his worries seem to have dissipated. He opens his eyes and Zach is standing about a nose away from him, staring.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Zach asks him.  
  
“Happy.”  
  
“Okay – wasn’t expecting that. You ready to get out of here?”  
  
Chris stretches and rolls off the bunk, lands on his feet. “ _So_  fucking ready. They’re letting us out?”  
  
There’s a cop at the barred door, with a crowded key ring. “Would you care to avail yourselves of the facilities before you leave?” he drawls.  
  
“No, sir,” Chris says fervently, and Zach shakes his head as well. The first thing they agreed when they were put in the holding cell was: no using the creepy metal toilet in the corner.  
  
But when the cop drops them back at their car, with a growled admonition to stay out of trouble, the first thing they do is drive to a diner and dash to the bathroom for a long, rapturous piss. Then Zach declares himself starving, so they stay for breakfast.  
  
“I should call Di,” Chris says as they wait for their order to arrive. “Make sure she’s okay. What?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“That’s a something, that look on your face. You don’t think I should call her?”  
  
Zach shrugs.  
  
“You think I’m the overbearing older brother too, don’t you?” He should be mad, but he doesn’t have the energy. “What do you think I should do, just forget about her?”  
  
“I’m not planning on calling Lea. If there’s a problem, she’ll get in touch.”  
  
The food arrives, and Chris tries not to drool all over the sausage and eggs. His stomach gives a loud, insistent gurgle. He gobbles down several forkfuls before pausing to say, “It’s not the same thing.”  
  
Zach says, “Pass the hot sauce?”  
  
Chris pushes it over. “How about a text? I could text her?”  
  
“She’s  _your_  sister, man. I’m not trying to tell you what to do.”  
  
Chris puts down his fork, rubs tired hands over his eyes, and lets them flop back on the table. “It’s not easy for me, okay? It’s not easy to let her go. Dad left, Mom died. I had to look out for her. I could  _see_  her turning into someone else, someone bitter and angry. And I just wanted…” He shakes his head. It’s stupid.  
  
“What did you want?” Zach asks. He glances around the diner and then slides a hand across the table to touch Chris’s fingers.  
  
“I just wanted to give her some stability. I wanted her to feel like she was loved, that not everyone  _she_  loved was just gonna leave her.” He has to pull his hand away from Zach’s to rub at his nose.  
  
Zach leans back in the booth, his arm draped along the back of the seat. “You did a good job. The best you possibly could.”  
  
Chris doesn’t believe that at all, because if he’d done the best he possibly could, he wouldn’t have let go of her, and Dianna wouldn’t have broken her back, and they’d still be flying together, and…He looks up at Zach, sprawled out in his seat like he has no cares in the world.  
  
If Chris had done the best he possibly could, Zach and Lea would never have come to Greenwood’s.  
  
Zach is shoveling food into his mouth and complaining that it’s not as good as Karl’s, and Chris doesn’t think he’s ever looked so gorgeous. Even with bloodshot eyes and toast crumbs at the corner of his mouth.  
  
“So you’re saying I should trust her more.”  
  
“Well. She  _is_  an adult.”  
  
It’s difficult for Chris to look at Di and see her as a woman, instead of his teenage sister, her face cold and blank as Bruce walked out of the crematorium with an urn full of ashes, and held it out to them. In the end Chris had asked Bruce to keep the urn safe for them, because it hurt too much to even look at it.  
  
“Okay. I won’t call Di,” he tells Zach. “I  _will_  text her, because otherwise I’ll be worried the whole way back. But consider this an attempt to cut the cord.”  
  
Zach laughs, and adds more hot sauce to his eggs. Chris feels the same lift in his chest he used to get when he was flying, a sense of freedom and harmony mixed with danger.  
  
He’s starting to feel kind of horny, too.  
  
“We don’t have to head back right away, do we?” he asks when they return to the car. Zach has just started the engine and is searching through his music collection for something mellow to play on the drive back.  
  
He looks surprised at Chris’s question. “I thought you’d wanna blow this town ASAP.”  
  
“I wanna blow  _something_ , sure.”  
  
“You…what? Did you just make an inappropriate sexual innuendo?”  
  
“Yeah. I did.” Chris can’t stop grinning. He feels reckless.  
  
“Then, absolutely, we can hang around here and hope to be arrested for real this time.” Zach keeps looking through his music. He thinks Chris is kidding.  
  
“Put your seat back.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Zach, put your seat back.”  
  
“You’re serious?”  
  
“If you don’t put your seat back  _right now_ —”  
  
But Zach wrenches the car into drive and takes off. “Not here,” he explains briefly. “Or else we really  _will_  end up back in that cell again.” He finds an underground parking lot and comes to a halt in a darkened corner.  
  
“This is so seedy,” Chris says. “Awesome.”  
  
“What has gotten  _into_  you? I like it.” Zach grabs at him, kisses him roughly.  
  
Chris bites at his ear. “I’ve done time, now. I’m hardened.”  
  
“Hell  _yeah_ , you are.” Zach’s hand is between Chris’s legs, squeezing almost painfully over his cock. “I love it when you make that noise.”  
  
But something truly has come over Chris, and he wants to see if he can make Zach lose his composure. He threads his hands through Zach’s hair and pulls, hard. Hearing the sound Zach makes in the back of his throat makes him more audacious. He bites down on Zach’s lower lip and decides to take a risk. “You want your cock sucked? Put your seat back, and don’t make me ask again.”  
  
There’s a  _thunk_  and Zach is sprawled out on his reclined seat, yanking at the fly of his jeans. Chris drops his own seat back too, then grabs at Zach’s hands. “No. Put your hands above your head.” Chris didn’t think Zach could get any more frantic, but at his words, he squeaks and grabs the headrest, and can’t stop thrashing his hips around as Chris leans over and tries to pull his jeans down. Chris manages to get the head of Zach’s cock free; another inch or two before he’s overcome and has to taste.  
  
The sex between them has been incredible from the start, but Chris has never felt like he’s rocked Zach’s world as much as Zach has his. Sex for Chris, if he’s honest, has always felt clinical – something healthy and natural and fun to do, but something he can do without. He’s suspected before that he’s not a great lay, but it never seemed to matter much, because his focus was on his work.  
  
Chris was  _fantastic_  at his work.  
  
Watching Zach squirm on the seat right now is making Chris rigid in his own jeans, and he wants to pull an orgasm out of Zach that’ll leave him dazed. He wants it more than he wants his  _own_  orgasm. He bends again to lap at Zach’s half-exposed dick, pleased when Zach moans. He tastes sweat and salt and something bitter that dissipates on his tongue, and all Chris wants now is more of that, more of everything.  
  
He pulls Zach’s jeans down with a Herculean effort, and then catches his eye; licks up his own palm before wrapping his fingers around Zach’s cock. He starts jacking him with a light hand, watches Zach’s eyes getting wider and wider. “Maybe I should go nice and slow, spin it out for a while? We’re not in any hurry right now. Not like we’re on the run from the law, not any more. All the time in the world.”  
  
“Please.”  
  
Chris has never heard Zach beg before, wonders what dragged it out of him. He massages his thumb under the ridge of Zach’s dick – right there, it must be that move, because Zach bucks up and says, “ _Please_ ,” again, with a little choke right at the end.  
  
Chris is hit with inspiration. “Pull up your top. No, don’t take it off, just pull it up under your arms – like that.” He’s kicking off his shoes and taking off his own jeans. When he’s down to his briefs he lifts himself over the space between their seats and straddles Zach. The roof of the car forces him low over Zach, and he sees Zach’s knuckles turn white as he grabs harder at the headrest.  
  
“What now?” Zach asks, breathless. Chris gets a hand around Zach’s cock again, does the massage thing he seems to like so much. “ _Fuck_. Stop teasing me. Come on, this was supposed to be quick and dirty—”  
  
Chris bites at his mouth gently to shut him up. “I just got out of jail, Zach. If I wanna take my time, I will take my goddamn time. Got it?”  
  
Zach eyes are sparkling, and he nods. “Got it.”  
  
 _Now what?_  Chris thinks.  _Come on, brain. Help me out, here._ Maybe it would be better to get his own cock out of the equation first.  
  
“Maybe you’re right, Zach, maybe it should just be quick and dirty – for one of us, anyway. So you can watch if you like. I’m going to shoot all over you and then, if you’re lucky, I’ll get you off too.”  
  
“Oh, my God,” Zach says faintly, and raises his head to watch Chris take his own cock out, start tugging at it. “I would  _totally_  be your bitch in jail.” Chris ducks his head, tries not to laugh. “But this is even better than doing it behind bars.”  
  
“You got that right.” Chris is already feeling it, right there, bliss just a few strokes away. He pauses for a moment to pinch at Zach’s nipples, because Zach does that to him, so he figures Zach must like it. But the way Zach writhes underneath him when he does it isn’t helping any, so Chris forgets about trying to drag the moment out. “I’m gonna blow,” he tells Zach, who makes a garbled noise and lifts his head again to watch. Chris tries to aim, but it hits him hard, a concrete wall of ecstasy crashing through him – he splatters everywhere and then slumps forward, gasping and laughing.  
  
“Don’t know why you bothered asking me to pull up my shirt,” Zach grumbles. “You got that  _every_ —unh.” Chris has swiped a hand through the jizz caught in Zach’s chest hair and is using it as surrogate lube, jerking at his dick. “Keep doing that.  _Please_  keep doing that.”  
  
Chris’s breath catches in his throat. “Keep begging like that and I will.” He can only take another few  _Please, pleases_  before he has to kiss Zach, his heart filling up with wonder and gratitude. This hot, funny, talented guy is panting underneath him, saying his name and begging to come for him like Chris is some kind of sex god.  
  
He never expected anything like  _this_. His whole previous existence seems smaller somehow, like his world has opened up, new seas and continents emerging with volcanic force on his neatly mapped-out life.  
  
“Chris, come  _on_.”  
  
“You know, I was planning to let you come in my mouth but—”  
  
Zach lets out a shout and arches up so far that Chris’s head thuds into the car roof, but he’s too fixated on watching the cock in his hand to notice. It’s a beautiful, beautiful sight, watching Zach shoot all over himself. He tells Zach as much, who gives a chuckle and a groan.  
  
“The car stinks now.”  
  
Chris rolls back onto his own seat and takes a sniff. “Um. Yeah. Also, I mean – that’s a  _lot_  of stuff you’ve got all over yourself, man. Do you have a towel or something?”  
  
“Like this is all  _my_  fault?”  
  
“I’ll see what’s in the trunk.” Chris is feeling pleased with himself. Mission: accomplished. Sure, Zach is right that his dirty talk could use some work, but one thing at a time. He wriggles back into his jeans and has another thought. “It’s not like anyone else is going to be with us, though. You can marinate in bodily fluids all the way back and no one will care.”  
  
“Uh,  _I’ll_  care.” Zach rummages behind his seat and pulls out a crumpled box of Kleenex, wads up several in his hand and starts wiping himself down. “What are you pouting about?”  
  
“It’s just kind of hot, you covered in both our…”  
  
“It’s sticky. And it’s drying in patches and it feels weird.”  
  
“Still hot.”  
  
Zach thinks it over and then shrugs. “I’m gonna have to wash this shirt anyway; might as well get it  _really_  dirty.” He pulls it back down and then wiggles his hips back into his jeans. Chris rewards him with his widest smile and Zach shakes his head, grinning back. “The things I do for you, you kinky freak.”  
  
They drive back out to the circus at a leisurely pace. Neither of them are looking forward to seeing Bruce. “And I’ll have to shower before we go see him,” Zach says.  
  
“Me, too. I haven’t washed since yesterday.”  
  
“True. But you didn’t get double-jizzed on.”  
  
“It  _was_  pretty spectacular. Maybe we should get locked up more often.”  
  
“Maybe. Or we could pretend.” Zach slides him a look from the corner of his eye. “I bet Anton would make us up some orange jumpsuits if we told him it was for a routine.”  
  
Chris laughs and laughs. “No way am I bringing Anton into any of our sex games, even just as a costumier. But I can wear a wife-beater for you if you like, and get some fake tattoos.”  
  
“That could work. Spiderman bubblegum!”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“It has temporary spider-web tattoos in the packet, if you’re lucky. But most of the time you get something dumb like his mask, or Gwen Stacey posing like a pin-up girl. I haven’t had it for years, but I saw some in town the other day.”  
  
“Okay, Zach. A fake spider-web tattoo, just for you. We’ll chew through as much gum as it takes.”  
  
Chris realizes it then. He’s totally fallen for Zach.  
  
  
***  
  
  
They only have an hour, by the time they’ve showered, to meet with Bruce and pack up their things to leave.  
  
“You’re lucky we were leaving today anyway,” Bruce growls at them, seated side by side on the sofa in his RV. “Because the police came out here and gave me what amounted to move-on orders last night, and then hung around the campground till morning.”  
  
“What? Why?” Chris asks.  
  
“Because of the townies,” Zach says out of the corner of his mouth. “They thought the townies might come looking for us. Or not even us—”  
  
Bruce glares. “That’s right, not even you bozos. The police figured they might come looking for payback, jump anyone they could.” But Chris can’t help imagining John giving one of his impassioned speeches about Bozo the Clown and how he shouldn’t be invoked as an insult. He has to fight to stop the snort of laughter. What the hell  _has_  gotten into him? He’s having trouble taking anything seriously.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re smirking about, Pine,” Bruce snaps. “This could have gotten completely out of hand. And if we’d been booked here longer and had to leave, we could have lost a fortune. Now get out of here, it’s just making me madder to look at you both. Oh, and Zach? I didn’t contract you and Lea just so you could start making trouble for us here. You might have got away with that kind of thing with your old employer, but not here. Not at Greenwood’s. Understood?”  
  
Chris wants to protest that it wasn’t Zach’s fault at all, just Lea’s, but Zach is nodding. “Understood, sir. Won’t happen again.”  
  
Bruce softens for a moment as they leave and slaps Zach’s shoulder in what must be a painful blow, from the look on Zach’s face. Chris bites his lip.  _Not funny_ , he tells himself.  
  
“Jesus.” Zach rubs his shoulder on the way back to his trailer. “I guess I got out of it lightly.”  
  
“It’s his way of showing affection. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Or something.” Chris can’t stop it this time – he giggles.  
  
Zach knocks into him with his sore shoulder. “Might want to wait till you get to your trailer for the hysterical laughter. Everyone’s watching.”  
  
There are little pockets of people standing around looking at the two of them, most of them glaring. But then Chris sees Dianna come out of her own trailer across the grounds, and forgets the rest of the troupe, can even ignore Lea emerging behind her. He jogs over. “You okay? Who came for you?”  
  
“Zoë and John. And we’re fine, although we did have a serious discussion with Bruce. Lea was very subdued. But hey, did you know she can hot-wire a car?” Her diamond smile falters as Chris pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry we ran off and left you like that. We should have stayed.”  
  
“No, don’t apologize,” Zach says, arriving behind Chris. “It was  _totally_  worth it. Lea, you hung over today?”  
  
“Not particularly.”  
  
“No? There’s no justice in the world. Come on, you can help me pack up my outdoor furniture.  _Yeah_ ,” he adds as she folds her arms. “Yeah, you can. You owe me. And you owe Chris even more.”  
  
“ _You’re_  the one who—”  
  
“ _Chris_  got stuck holding your knife, and he didn’t rat you out. You’d be the one who spent the night in jail, or worse, if he hadn’t stepped up for you.”  
  
Lea looks guilty, although she says, “It wasn’t  _jail_. Just the cop-shop. But, well. Thanks.” She sticks out her hand to Chris, who looks at it, and then into her beautiful, expressive face. She does seem a little sorry. This is probably as much as he’s ever going to get from Lea, and the thought makes him sad. Di cares about her, which means he’s going to be spending a lot of time with her whether he likes it or not.  
  
Maybe they’re never going to be friends, but that doesn’t mean he has to hate her.  
  
“It’s no big deal,” he says, and shakes her hand. “You’re part of the Greenwood’s family now. This probably won’t mean much to you if you think I’m dangerous and unprofessional and – and all that stuff you said. But for what it’s worth, I’ve got your back.”  
  
Lea looks shocked, and Zach takes the opportunity to shepherd her away.  
  
Dianna is trying to hide her own surprise as well. She gives him a hug and kisses his cheek. “Thank you. And thanks for last night, too. I’m sorry we left you in that situation.”  
  
“I wanted to say thanks as well, for getting out of there when you did. God knows the last thing I wanted was you getting into trouble.”  
  
“Was it really awful?”  
  
“Not  _entirely_ ,” Chris says with a grin, thinking about Zach and his prison fantasies.  
  
“Chris…” He raises his eyebrows, and she puts her head on one side, looking him over. “You seem different.”  
  
“I  _feel_  different.” He gives her a once-over back. “Since you mention it,  _you_  look different too, somehow.”  
  
“I’ve been doing some thinking. Maybe getting out into the real world did us some good.”  
  
“I spent the night behind bars and you holed up in a sordid motel.”  
  
She gives a shrug. “No one ever said the real world was easy.”  
  
  
***

 

Greenwood’s is coming closer and closer to LA, where Chris is supposed to unveil the new trapeze routine. Time is running out, and Chris still hasn’t got up on the rig himself. He’s managing the uneven bars and even the high bars, but the thought of climbing up that tall ladder and looking down into a net still fills him with dread.  
  
The nerves are finally getting to Zach, too, who loses his temper with Lea one morning at breakfast. Chris is still filling up his plate and chatting with Zoë over the hash browns when he hears Zach’s raised voice, “Lea, I am so  _done_  with you today.” Zach isn’t exactly volcanic, but the whole crew fall silent and look after him as he marches out of the mess tent. It’s the first time Chris has heard him sound so irritated.  
  
Chris’s first instinct is to follow Zach, but he wants to make sure he’s not going to make things worse, so he sets down his plate at Lea’s table and asks, “What did you say?”  
  
Lea colors up. “Nothing.” But under Chris’s insistent stare, she sighs, “I just told him to double-check all your preparation when you get up on the trapeze. Make sure the net is secure, and the rigging, that kind of thing. He thought I was insulting your professionalism.”  
  
“Weren’t you?”  
  
“Not intentionally. I’m just worried about him. I think it’s important to control as much of the situation as possible, but Zach’s always been less rigorous about that kind of thing. Anyway – just give him some time to himself. He’ll go do some meditation thing in the forest and be happy as a clam in a few hours.” She goes back to her breakfast, but Chris notices that she does more pushing of food around her plate than eating. She stays quiet, even when Dianna tries to engage her in conversation.  
  
After breakfast, Anton wants to try another costume on Di, and Chris decides he might as well help Lea with the washing up. She’s on the roster with John and Jennifer, and neither one likes her.  She looks as though she could use an ally today.  
  
His tactic doesn’t quite work. Chris drops a wet plate that John hands to him for drying, and the dull sound of it cracking on the ground makes all four of them freeze and stare.  
  
“Butterfingers,” John says, and then looks like he wishes he hadn’t. “Sorry,” he adds awkwardly.  
  
“Forget it. Just a plate,” Chris says, and kneels to pick up the pieces.  
  
But Lea turns and runs out of the tent. John and Jennifer look after her, their mouths slightly open, but Chris continues picking up the pieces.  
  
Once the dishes are finished – in uneasy silence – Chris heads out to see if Zach has turned up. He hasn’t. Di isn’t in her trailer either. The whole camp is strangely quiet, as though the troubled atmosphere has permeated everywhere. So Chris decides it’s time for a run; he missed it this morning, and he could use it. Clear his head.  
  
The forest is the same one they’ve been slowly traveling past for the last few months, winding its way down the state like a green ribbon. The birds are the same, and the smells, and the trees, until Chris comes to one giant tree in the forest, and has to stop and admire it. It’s out of its element here, surrounded by the smaller pines. Overgrown and bombastic, but proudly conspicuous.  
  
“You don’t give a shit what the others think, do you?” Chris murmurs to it, placing his hand on the rough, scratchy bark. “You just do your thing.”  
  
“Never took you for a hippie,” says a voice to the side, and he jumps back, startled.  
  
It’s Lea. The Daisies seem to be making a habit out of scaring him deep in the forest.  
  
“Can you not sneak up like that?” he snaps. “Please?”  
  
“I wasn’t sneaking. I was here first.” She walks around the enormous trunk, trailing a hand along it as she does. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” They both have to tip their heads right back to follow the line of the tree, the branches blocking out the blue sky. “It’s one of the things Zach and I love most about the circus, you know. The travel. Nature. We never got to see trees like this, growing up in New York.”  
  
“There are parks in New York.” He can’t think why he’s trying to argue with her.  
  
“We didn’t get much chance to see the parks either.” She sits down in between the giant roots of the tree, nestling into it like a child into its mother’s embrace. She still looks sad, thoughtful, her eyes somber as she glances up at Chris. “I didn’t mean anything this morning. What I said to Zach, I wasn’t trying to insult you. I just worry about him.”  
  
Chris drops down beside her, the fallen needles and grass of the forest floor surprisingly soft and springy. “You spent years throwing knives at the guy, and  _now_  you worry about his safety?”  
  
Lea leans back against the tree and closes her eyes. Chris does the same, growing more aware of the noises of the forest. Bell-songs of the birds, an occasional scurry, the quiet rustle of the wind through branches. Lea’s breath, growing slower and steadier as though she’s falling asleep. His own is starting to synchronize.  
  
He’s maybe half-asleep when Lea says, “I can control the knives. I can hold life and death in my own hand and have power over them – no one will ever die then, not while I’m in control. As long as I’m good enough, they’ll be safe.”  
  
Chris lies still, keeps his eyes closed, and tries to see it from her perspective. “But you might make a mistake.”  
  
“Never.” She says it with such finality that Chris starts to believe her too. “That’s why I had such an issue with you, by the way.”  
  
“Because I made a mistake?”  
  
He hears Lea sit up, and pushes himself up on his arms, looks at her.  
  
“Because if you made a mistake, then maybe so could I. Maybe I don’t have as much control over things as I thought.”  
  
Chris nods. She  _doesn’t_  control life and death, she can’t  _really_  think that. But he gets it – the need to have that illusion in place, to fool herself into thinking she can have some kind of say in Fate. He’s wished a thousand, a million times himself that he could turn back time and change just a moment, just one split-second. Chris replays that slipping hand in his head again.  
  
If only, if only; he’s tortured himself with  _If onlys_  ever since it happened, but right now he feels less guilty and more wistful. “I understand why you’re not happy about me working with Zach,” he says to Lea. “But I can promise you, I’m never going to make a mistake again. Hell, I’ll be like you. Infallible.”  
  
Lea laughs, surprising him. She puts her hands behind her head and leans back against the tree trunk again. “Infallible? Yeah. If only.” She lets out a sigh, happy and sad at the same time. “It doesn’t work that way, does it? Even though I want it to. We all make mistakes.”  
  
They’re quiet again, enjoying the perfect heat and the muted blue sky way above, half-blocked by branches. “When I was four years old, my mother threw herself out the window of our apartment,” Lea says. “She was high on something, I guess. Or she just wanted to die. I saw it. I don’t remember it, not consciously, but I have nightmares about it, about trying to follow her out the window. It’s why I don’t like heights.”  
  
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.” Chris is simultaneously horrified and embarrassed. He has no idea what he’s supposed to say. And in his mind he sees Dianna again, crumpled on the floor of the Big Top, right after the accident.  
  
“My dad ran out on my mom before I was born, so my grandma took me in, but she died when I was six. I moved around to a bunch of different foster homes, but no one ever wanted to keep me. I didn’t play well with other kids.” Her tone is amused, but Chris is thinking about a little girl bouncing from home to home, feeling unwanted and unloved. “I ended up with this strict family, lots of rules. I guess it was good for me, because I didn’t end up on the streets like everyone seemed to think I would. Zach lived next door and I used to watch him practice his cheerleader stuff in the yard. I bugged him and bugged him for weeks to let me join in and eventually he did. He thought up routines for us both and—” She laughs. “We just worked well together. So we’ve been together ever since, even though sometimes I can tell he doesn’t really like me much.”  
  
“He likes you,” Chris protests.  
  
“No, sometimes he doesn’t. But he always loves me, I know  _that_.” She yawns, stretches and settles again. “I don’t really know why I’m telling you this; I guess I feel like I owe you an apology. Or an explanation. You’ve been kind to me, and I haven’t been kind back.”  
  
“I wasn’t so kind.” Chris feels guilty, remembering all the bad things he’s said and thought about Lea. If he’d known, well…  
  
“I don’t like people knowing about it,” Lea says, as if she’s read his mind. “They treat me differently, and all I see in their faces is  _pity_.”  
  
“You prefer irritation?” Chris could hit himself. “Sorry.”  
  
But Lea grins. “See, you’re not like them. You’re not going to give me a break just because I have a  _tragic_  childhood.” She flings a hand across her brow and pretends to swoon. “Zach’s like that too. He looks out for me, but he never pities me.”  
  
Chris thinks again about Zach’s words during their night in lock-up.  _Lea’s not as bad as you think she is. I promise._ “My dad was an asshole too,” he offers. “That’s why Di uses our mom’s name now. She wanted to cut all ties from him. She thinks I’m too soft for still missing him – she never says it, but I can tell.”  
  
“I don’t think you’re soft. It’s natural to miss a parent.” Chris can’t find a reply, so he stays quiet until Lea says, “Maybe we’re both too soft. She’s tough, your sister.”  
  
“Yeah. Thank God.”  
  
There’s a noise above them, cracking twigs, and a faint curse. Lea and Chris both stay where they are, watching Zach come into view, clambering down the tree. He looks happier, less stressed, and hangs from his knees from the lowest branch. “This is some fucking tree.”  
  
Chris wants to warn him to be careful, but he bites it back. Trusting Zach’s skill is important.  
  
“What have you two been talking about?” Zach asks, so casually that Chris thinks he  _must_  have overheard at least some of the conversation.  
  
“Family,” Lea tells him. “It’s like Chris said the other day, right? We’re part of the Greenwood’s family now, at least for the term of our contract. I’d take a permanent position here in a split-second, if Bruce offered.”  
  
Chris is so touched that she took what he said to heart that he almost wants to cry. He looks at Zach, who is smiling warmly.  
  
“Me too,” says Zach. “Everyone’s fantastic. Well, except John.” Zach flips off the branch –  _too far, too far,_  Chris thinks, but it’s not too far. Zach lands safely. Lea doesn’t even look over to see if he’s alright, as though her belief in him is absolute.  
  
“I’m just kidding,” Zach says to Chris. “I love John.”  
  
Chris grunts. “He has his moments.”  
  
  
***  
  
  
Chris slaps his hands together once more, ignoring the cloud of mag that puffs out when he does. He can’t stop staring up, looking at the trapeze rig up there against the canopy of the Big Top.  
  
“Not as tall as that tree today,” Zach says. Chris doesn’t reply. “You know, we could just stick to the high bars again today. If you’re not ready.” But Zach sounds anxious, and Chris knows he’s thinking about the time running out. If Chris can’t make it on to the trapeze today…  
  
Chris has been letting Zach up on the fly trap rig to practice for a few weeks now, letting him get a feel for mid-air saltos and dropping to the net. The first time he watched Zach drop and bounce in the net wasn’t much fun, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected either. Watching from the ground gave him a sense that he might be able to prevent anything bad happening. But Chris is starting to wonder what will happen if he has a panic attack while he’s on the trapeze.  
  
As a catcher, Chris got used to the fear involved in watching a fast-spinning human body heading right for him, and he doesn’t think that will become an issue for him now. He doesn’t think flying will be a problem, either. During their double routines he and Dianna flew from trapeze to trapeze, twisting and turning in the air, and the only thing Chris concentrated on then was the timing.  
  
No, Chris is sure any freak-outs will happen once he’s actually caught Zach. Or Jennifer. Or Rachel. If they even trust him enough in the first place to let him catch them. Jen and Rach used to fly what John called “back-up” – they’re competent enough trapeze artists, but even a double-salto is a stretch for them. Chris used to choreograph them as fillers after Dianna had done anything particularly spectacular – filling in time for the audience to give Di time to prepare mentally for her next big trick. Or else they would single-salto trap-to-trap to keep the audience excitement going in between Di and Chris’s more complex doubles routines.  
  
Neither of the girls seem thrilled to be back on the fly trap, if Chris is honest with himself. He’s sure it’s because they don’t trust him. Maybe he should give it up, train someone else for catching.  
  
Train someone else to fly with Zach.  
  
“Let’s do this,” he says aloud. He heads to the ladder, and Zach follows.  
  
John and Rachel are already up on the platform to spot for them today – catch empty trapezes to keep them out of the way, and make sure Chris and Zach nail their dismounts. Karl is on the other side to spot, because he insisted. He’s never spotted before, though, so Jennifer is there as well to help him and show him what to do. Chris is uncomfortably certain that Karl is feeling overprotective, but it’s not like he’s going to tell Karl to back off.  
  
“So we’re starting on this side together,” Chris says to Zach at the bottom of the ladder. He puts one hand on it, and looks up. John peers down over the small platform at them, waiting. “I’ll go first to show you what to do – a simple release to the second trapeze, which Karl will swing out, and then dismount on the other platform.” Chris looks up again. John has moved back out of view, and now the platform seems very far away. “So…that’s what we’ll do. Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Zach has heard this several times before, but it helps Chris to say it, to spell it out as though the words will make the actions come into being.  
  
“Okay. So when we get up, you’ll rope me. I’ll check it. And then I’ll rope you and check it. You need to check it too,” he tells Zach. “Lea wanted you to check.”  
  
Zach rolls his eyes, but nods. Lea and Di have been banned from the Big Top along with the rest of the troupe, because Chris wanted to make sure he could concentrate during this first trapeze rehearsal. But he promised Lea he’d make Zach be as careful as possible.  
  
They could put on the safety harness down here, or ‘rope’ as John insists on calling it, but Chris has never been a fan of it. It makes the ladder climb a little more difficult to navigate. While he’s never had an issue with climbing the ladder before, today it seems flimsy. He’s never noticed how tall it is, and how much it swings. Has it  _always_  been this long and fragile?  
  
“Okay,” he says. His vocabulary has been significantly reduced in the last few seconds. “Okay.”  
  
“Chris—”  
  
“Okay, let’s go.” Chris wraps his hand firmly around the ladder rail and steps up onto it, swaying with the movement. He keeps his eyes trained on the platform above. And he knows Zach is right behind him.  
  
Halfway up he stops, breathing heavily.  
  
“Are you okay?” Zach’s voice spirals up to him, almost as if he’s speaking underwater.  
  
“Is it hot in here?” Chris tries to say, but it comes out as a mumble, and he can’t stop staring at the net below; surely it’s not strung tight enough. It looks saggy. “Zach…”  
  
“Chris, just hang on. Take a deep breath, okay?”  
  
He can’t take a deep breath; he can barely take  _any_  breaths, his lungs so stiff and constricted that trying to get any air into them would make them explode. His fingers seem to be soaked with sweat, sliding on the ladder, and he clutches as tightly as he can, chokes in one painful lungful of air.  
  
“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Zach is coiled around him on the ladder, a different kind of heat from the stuffy air inside the Top. “You’re going to have to let go, okay? Trust me and let go, because we have to get down, fast.”  
  
Chris doesn’t understand what he means, but he does trust Zach. He has to. Two people stuck in mid air, working together as a team, and all they have to rely on are each other. Chris trusts him.  
  
He trusts him right up until Zach uncurls his fingers from the bar and says, “I’m going to count to three,” because that’s when he realizes that Zach is going to pull him off the ladder and fall backwards to the net below.  
  
He frantically grabs for the rung again, but Zach, that  _asshole_ , he’s already dropping back, arms wrapped around Chris, pressing his biceps firmly into his sides so he can’t reach for the safety of the ladder.  
  
It goes on forever, like falling from the top of the tree into a bottomless pit, and Chris can see with perfect clarity John’s alarmed face looking down at him.  _I wonder if this is how Dianna saw me that day, scared, helpless, far away._  
  
And then,  _I wonder what Lea’s mother saw._  
  
They hit the net and bounce, Zach making a painful sound as one of Chris’s elbows punches into the soft area below his ribs. One bounce, two, three, and then tumbling and sliding, until they come to stillness in the middle of the net, like two confused flies caught in a web.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Chris has dinner in his trailer that night, not wanting to face anyone and not able to deal with seeing Karl’s ashen face again, or think about the way he yanked him in for a tight hug once Chris climbed off the net. Even John had no jokes to make, and Zach just led Chris away as soon as he could walk on his wobbly legs.  
  
Zach brings him a tray of food, and everything on it is a favorite – ravioli, biscuits with sausage gravy, hash browns, a thick wedge of sourdough bread stuffed with smoked cheddar and cold, salty butter. No vegetables to speak of, which is unheard of – Karl makes everyone eat their greens. There’s a bowl of cold cherry pie and ice cream for after, which Zach puts in the fridge.  
  
“I know it seems like a lot of carbohydrates to digest in one go,” Zach says, “but Karl wanted to make sure you’d eat  _something_  at least, and everything you like seems to consist of starch.”  
  
Chris doesn’t feel hungry, and he finds himself copying Lea, pushing things with his fork and hiding bits of food under the gravy so it looks like he’s eaten something. He gives monosyllabic answers to Zach, who eats from his own plate of food, including broccoli, with gusto.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Zach says after he’s finished, wiping his mouth. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to do it. You’re not ready.”  
  
Chris scowls. “Why’d you have to make me jump like that? I wish you’d just helped me down. It would have been less dramatic.”  
  
Zach reaches across the table to give his forking hand a squeeze. “You know me, baby, I love the drama. But actually, I did try talking you down. Don’t you remember?” Chris shakes his head. All he remembers is tunnel vision and John’s apprehensive face. “I tried to get you to move back down with me, but you wouldn’t, and it was getting close to fifteen minutes of you hyperventilating and refusing to move. We were all worried you’d slip and…anyway, in the end, Karl said I’d have to pull you off and jump for it.”  
  
“Fucking Karl,” Chris mutters, but his heart’s not in it.  
  
Zach is still stroking his wrist. “You’re not eating anything.”  
  
“Not hungry.”  
  
“Are you mad at me?”  
  
“No.” Chris pushes the plate away with a sigh. “I’m mad at  _me_.”  
  
Zach withdraws his hand, and when Chris glances up, he looks disappointed.  
  
“What?” Chris asks.  
  
“I just thought…after we got out of jail, you seemed different. Like you were going to be less down on yourself all the time.”  
  
Chris gives a sour laugh. “After we got out of jail? Zach, come on. It was one night in the back cell of a police station.”  
  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
“Look, I’m not mad at myself because I had a panic attack, I’m mad because… Because I’m afraid of letting everyone down, including me. I  _want_  to do this. I  _do_  feel different – I don’t know if it was the jail thing, or just getting away from here for one night, but whatever it was, you’re right. I’ve managed to start forgiving myself and I thought that meant I’d be okay with fly trap. I’m mad at myself because I didn’t get right back up and try again. Of  _course_  I’ve fallen before. But I didn’t make a big deal out of it; I just climbed up and tried again and again until I started catching the bar instead of hitting the net.” He stops for breath. “And you know what? I  _am_  hungry.”  
  
He pulls the plate close again and starts wolfing down food. Afterwards, Zach puts the pie and half-melted ice cream in front of him without comment and watches Chris eat every last bite.  
  
“You want to lie down?” he asks, when Chris pushes the chair back and politely smothers a belch.  
  
“Ugh. I ate too much.” Chris thanks God silently for elasticized waistbands, which never require unbuttoning.  
  
Zach lies behind him on the bed, rubbing his belly in little circles under his t-shirt until Chris feels drowsy. “So full,” he groans.  
  
“That’s my boy,” he hears Zach saying, amused. “You have to keep up your gorgeous figure.”  
  
“Try again tomorrow,” Chris mumbles. “Fly trap, I mean.”  
  
“We sure can.”  
  
“I miss it.” Looking up at the way the giant tree grazed the sky, painting it with leafy fingertips, made Chris remember again what he loved most about the flying trapeze: the freedom, the unearthly feeling of suspension in mid-air, above it all and away from it all.  
  
The last thing he thinks before he dozes is how much he wants that feeling back.  
  
  
***  
  
  
He wakes hours later in the night, Zach flung out next to him in a deep sleep, all limbs and angles. Chris lies in the dark for some time, stomach less uncomfortable and his mind too active. It’s almost two a.m. and sleep doesn’t seem to be getting any closer, so Chris gets up and walks over to the Big Top.  
  
He’s still in his practice outfit, and his boxes of rosin and mag are still in the tent near the bars set up for practice. It’s a short step from observation to figuring  _why not_ , so Chris turns on the spotlights, dusts up his hands, and goes through his practice routine on the uneven bars once, twice, three times.  
  
He’s just started for a fourth time when he becomes aware of a figure watching him, and flips down.  
  
“I thought you were a ghost,” John says, coming forward out of the gloom.  
  
“You’re not entirely wrong,” Chris says, and automatically bends to clap more mag into his hands. Trust John to notice the lights.  
  
“I guess ghosts don’t need lights, though. My second thought was a townie had got in, looking for some fun.”  
  
“Just me.” Chris hoists himself up on the lower bar. He hangs by the knees to stare at John upside down. “So you can go now.”  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
In response, Chris swings up, stands on the lower bar and launches himself to the high bar, carries out his practice routine with perfect precision. He even lands solidly, thumping with steady feet and flawless balance into the mat with a dull, punchy sound.  
  
“You’re as good as you ever were,” John says, and then they both look up, up, up to the trapeze rig high in the roof of the Top. “You should get up there and practice. You know it’s different down here – don’t get the same centrifugal forces when you’re swinging on a moving bar.”  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
John is already walking over, flipping himself into the net and bouncing a few times. “Remember when Anton first arrived and you had that big bust-up when you couldn’t take his posturing anymore? ‘Shut your mouth, Yelchin, no one gives a shit where you came from. The only thing we care about is your performance. So if you want respect…’”  
  
“If you want respect,” Chris finishes, “get the fuck out there and  _show_  me something I can respect.”  
  
“I think you should take your own advice.”  
  
That night, Chris manages to make it halfway up the ladder and back down again before the panic hits. Afterwards, when John is rubbing his back in much the same way as Lea did – was he taking notes, goddamn him? – it’s not as scary or humiliating as it once might have been.  
  
Thinking of Lea makes him wonder if she might consider helping him. If she can manage her issues, why can’t he? As for the trapeze, “I think roping might help,” he pants, and John nods calmly, as though Chris wheezing for air and having to sit with his head between his knees is no big deal.  
  
“Yeah, we’ll try that tomorrow night.”  
  
“Tomorrow night.” It’s not a bad idea. “I want to do it; I want to get back up there.”  
  
“I want you to as well.”  
  
“You do?”  
  
John nods.  
  
“I thought…”  
  
“Look, I know we’ve had some issues,” John says in a rush. “And that’s my fault. I wish I could take back what I said that day. I was in shock. We both were. But I didn’t mean it. I just saw her falling and when she hit the side of the net like that—” He shudders. “And the blood.”  
  
Chris has never been able to remember how he got down to Dianna after the accident – logically he knows he must have dropped from the trapeze to the net. John, who was spotting for them, swarmed down the ladder on the other side. They both reached Di at the same time, lying face-down and so twisted and broken that Chris was sure she was dead, her blonde hair stained deep red in the small, seeping puddle.  
  
John and Chris had stopped, too terrified to touch her, silence filling the empty, cavernous Big Top until John said, “You  _dropped_  her. Oh, God. How could you drop her?”  
  
“I didn’t mean it,” John says again now. “I’m sorry. I know you took it to heart. But if anyone was to blame, it was me. I was supposed to help out with the rigging that day and I was late, and I didn’t even bother to check it when I—”  
  
“Don’t,” Chris says. “For Christ’s sake. I didn't check the rigging either.  And dude, you can stop rubbing my back now.” John removes his arm, looking uncomfortable. “Wait – is that why you’re so desperate to be involved with the ring crew?”  John had liked to help out before the accident, but ever since then it's seemed like an obsession.   
  
“I know it’s crazy, but I just feel like – if I’m there, helping, I can make sure no one ever gets hurt again.  _Ever_.”  
  
Now that Chris thinks about it, John was definitely on Bruce’s side rather than Anton’s in the Cossack Drag argument. John’s words remind him of Lea’s need for control – and of his own need to control Dianna, keep her protected.  
  
He laughs, and John looks taken aback. “Sorry,” Chris says. “It’s just – we’re both wandering around Greenwood’s blaming ourselves, dying inside, and it’s so dumb. We used to be friends.” He stands up, and John does too.  
  
“I’d like to be again. If we can?” John holds out his hand, but Chris brushes it aside, pulls him in for a hug.  
  
“Try again tomorrow night?” he asks as they turn off the lights and exit the Big Top.  
  
“Tomorrow night,” John agrees.  
  
“Don’t go blabbing,” Chris warns him. “I’m serious. I need to keep this quiet. Just in case…”  
  
“No blabbing. I promise.” John isn’t often sincere, but Chris can tell he is this time. Whether he ends up keeping his promise or not, he certainly intends to try, and it’s enough for now.  
  
Chris showers in his own trailer and then heads back to Zach’s. When he slides back into bed, warm and flushed from the hot water, Zach snuggles into him. “Where’ve you been?” he mumbles.  
  
“Go back to sleep.” Chris kisses Zach’s eyebrows, and lets him flop over in the bed to fall asleep again. Chris finds his own mind slowing down now. He has a plan of action. Tomorrow he’ll talk to Lea, ask her for some more techniques to help with his panic attacks. And tomorrow night, he and John will try harnessing; that might help with the anxiety. Tomorrow night, he might actually be able to make it all the way up the ladder. Tomorrow night…  
  
He’s asleep before he can make any more plans.


End file.
